winter weary

only two more months to the vernal equinox. not that i am counting or anything. i’m not saying that my skin is as dry as these thistle leaves, or that my extremities feel as frosted and brittle. i’m not saying that. exactly.

winter thistle stem and leaves

 

self portrait

i started trying to figure out what exactly i was doing in this improvised twiggy self-portrait, and the possibilities became endless. conducting the orchestra, i thought. throwing out the first pitch at the ballgame. telling my son to get back here this instant. hanging laundry. telling someone to “talk to the hand. directing rush hour traffic. singing in the rain. serving the ball at 40-15. getting ready to hug my daughter when she gets off the plane. thanking the universe for all of you. i’ll let you decide which it is.

winter branches of red elderberry

wordless writing

asemic writing is a wordless open semantic form of writing. The word asemic means “having no specific semantic content”, or “without the smallest unit of meaning.” in other words, it is the form of writing without the content. but it also has to look enough like traditional writing so as not to be confused with abstract visual art. after that, it is up to the “reader” to supply whatever meaning or connections there might be in the shapes that are not exactly writing but not exactly art, but hint in certain ways at both. i don’t particularly like ending posts with leading questions, like “what do you see here?” because i think that trope has been exhausted on a zillion clickbait instagram posts. but if you think this qualifies as asemic writing, or is simply a composed abstraction, i’d be interested. winter stems trying not to say something

little hooks

as i’ve written before, those little hooks you see at the end of the individual spikes of burdock seed heads were the inspiration for velcro. they, quite literally, get their hooks into you. or your jeans. or your socks. or your wool shirt. despite the annoyance of a post-walk session of burdock bur removal, i love this strange, sometimes awkward looking plant, with its edible root, and its big elephant ear leaves, and its gangly stalks of bobbing velcro puffballs. burdock has its hooks in me in more ways than one.

burdock burrs dusted with snow (arctium)

missing masa

these lily of the valley leaves look all ready for a little dollop of masa, wrapped around a little spoonful of braised and spiced pork shoulder, and steamed. unfortunately, unlike corn husks, every part of the lily of the valley plant is toxic. so i will not be making tamales of them. i will just be dreaming of tamales for a while.

dried lily of the valley leaves